A Moment in Hell: The Captain's Rage.
The searing agony of regenerating flesh. A whirlwind of confusion and pain. Katashi opens his eyes slowly, lucidity returning to him. How long had he been in that state of confusion, neither dead nor alive? He sits up, wincing slightly as a dull ache courses through his body. The cloying scent of sweat, blood and rust hang in the air, wrapping his mind in a veil of memories. “'Hell'…” he croaks slowly, his throat dry and parched. That’s right… I’m in Hell… What was the reason he came to such a place? He can’t remember… He stands slowly, casting his gaze about the tiny room. Wooden crates sit stacked against the walls, bound and tied with leather cords. The crates slide suddenly as the room lists, bumping against him. Pushing past them, he reaches for the door, the sounds of grunting, scraping metal and barking orders emanating from the other side. “'Keep rowin’, yer worthless sacks of lemure flesh'!” the taskmaster turns towards Katashi as he enters the lower deck. A hunched, alien figure with a face full of tentacles and a cruel barbed whip in his hand. A Barbazu. Leathery-skinned creatures groan and gnash their teeth as they row, pulling rusted metal arms with bulging limbs. They sit on wooden boxes, their flesh glistening with sweat. Barely humanoid, the devils take no notice of the newcomer, focusing on the task at hand. “'Hoho, the meatsack’s alive',” the taskmaster growls gutturally, spitting a wad of phlegm off to the side. “'Captain’ll be pleased, that lily-livered pus-filled pimple on a glabrezu’s arse'.” “'Captain'…” Katashi mouths the word silently. “'I’m on a ship, then… Where can I find him'?” "Up top,” the alien figure says, "Manning the ‘elm. Not that that useless pile of meat could steer a boat if he tried." Katashi nods slowly, unfazed and apathetic to the sight before him. He walks past the barbazu without another word, climbing the stairs to the main deck. “'I don’t give a damn what he offered you',” a coarse voice snarls from the aft. “T'his is my boat an’ you’ll be stationed where I tell ye'!” Katashi looks over to the source of the commotion. A wild-looking man, the very model of the archetypal pirate, stands at the helm arguing with a foppish man of Malicite descent. Pointed ears jut from behind the Malicite’s blonde hair, giving away his Scionic heritage. “'Now, now',” the Scion tuts, wagging his finger as if reprimanding a child, “'Naberius isn’t going to like that one bit'.” Naberius… The name floats around in Katashi’s head. Why does that name ring a bell? “'And the word about the ship is that our…'” the Scion smirks, “'Mutual friend, Naberius, owns you'.” “'So really',” he crosses his arms, staring at the pirate with a frosty glare, “'What’s stopping him from sending you below deck with the rest of them? They’d tear you apart'…” The pirate grits his teeth and snorts, turning away from the man. “'Cap’n Recard',” A third enters the conversation, a man of obviously infernal heritage. Leathery wings sit folded behind his back and a sinewy tail swishes behind him. With wavy hair the colour of dirty straw and a band of fabric covering one of his piercing blue eyes, he addresses the captain. “'First mate Riley',” the Captain acknowledges him with a nod, “'Speak freely, my friend'.” “'P’raps we can leave the bickering for later',” the half-blood says, “'Our new arrival seems to be awake'.” The Captain glances over railing down at Katashi. “'So he is. Well met, Rei-Jin. Captain James R. Recard. I trust the accomodations are to ye likings, hoho'." “'Indeed',” Katashi bows curtly. “'Your hospitality’s much appreciated, but I do find myself wondering why it’s needed and how I came to be here'.” “'Man power, my good man',” The Captain says, “'It’s hard to find a mortal with any skill down here.'” "The good captain thought it best to recruit from the infirmary,” the Scion interjects, “'I believe you were choking on your own blood at the time... Shows spirit, and all that...'" “'Of course,'” Katashi says, “'And who might you be'?” The man smiles, his face becoming the model of genteel amiability. "Names are important, down here. You know that as well as I, my friend. Though the... good captain... seems to forget." He casts a quick glance in Recard’s direction. "You may call me Prince." The Scion lopes down the stairs towards him, pulling one of his gloves taut. “'And you, what shall we call you'?” “'Dashiva',” he replies absently, “'Katashi Dashiva'.” He quickly turns towards the Captain once more. "So James, what are you doing down here sailing in the land with barely enough water to fill a cup?" “'Captain is more appropriate',” Recard replies, his eyes fixed ahead. “'Of course, you’ve heard of Naberius’ little venture, no'?” Prince turns and walks over to the railings, cane at his side. “'You’re mistaken',” Katashi says. “'I can recall little of where I am or who Naberius is'.” “'Former King of the Joining Realm and Archduke of Hell',” Recard says knowingly. “'We’re under his employ, and he needs us to run an errand or two.'” “'Such as'?” Katashi asks, trying to piece things together. "We sail to the Isle of Mirth,” the Captain responds, “'To see if we can’t find out a thing or two about a friend of his.'” “'I believe I did something of the sort in my college days',” Prince adds whimsically, “'…only with much more opium...'" “'And what in return?'” Katashi wonders out loud. A faint memory stirs in the back of his mind. Whispered promises and distant proposals. "I believe the good captain gets to keep his perch above deck.” Prince says, “'This is, after all, Naberius' ship... However he wish to forget… As for me, I've been paid in advance. I'm merely here on a matter of... personal interest'." Prince pauses for a moment, briefly lost in thought. “'... and you, I believe, were stitched up from several pieces, in exchange for servitude. You have our good friend up there to thank for that.'" He motions towards the rigging, where a hulking snakelike creature hangs from the ropes, like a giant serpent with a scaled humanoid torso and arms. “'Servitude'?” Katashi says, “'No, not quite. More like… A mutually beneficial business proposition.'” The Captain lets out an amused snort. “'A rose by any other name…'” “'Quite'.” Prince says wryly. “"Those are... lenient terms, my friend. Naberius can be quite the... ruthless bargained. Clearly you must be a man of some skill.” “'Yourself as well',” Katashi says, “'There will be danger, I assume, which is why he has pulled individuals such as us together. If we are to work together, perhaps you should tell me your talents.'” “'Wasting away my fortune on easy women, if you listen to my father…'” Prince says, drifting off for a moment before adding, “'He’s dead now'. Perhaps we'll see him.” Prince’s eyes narrow, and for a moment briefly gleam with arcane energy. “'This isn’t your first bargain with fiends, is it… Warlock?'” “'You would be wrong',” Katashi says, “'Deals need not to be made with devils to gain power, there are easier... more savoury methods. But enough of me… You channel the arcane as well, but from where do your powers stem?'” “'Oh you know',” Prince says with a wave of his hand, “Old money, starving peasants, stuffy bureaucrats… That kind of thing.” “'But if you truly need a demonstration…'” He lopes toward the side of the ship, cane in hand, and tears a void in the surf with a vicious bolt of lightning. He takes a sharp breath, smoothing down his hair as the fire leaves his eyes. “'Good',” Katashi nods, unimpressed. “'And you, James'?” “'The Captain’s the best damn spellsword you’ve ever seen',” Riley, the half-fiend, pipes in. “'Oh, we relished the looks on out enemies’ faces when we bore down on them fire both fire and steel'.” “'You forgot how good a shot I am, Riley.'” The Captain grins as he digs a handful of tarnished coins out of his pocket. “'Watch and learn.'” He hurls the coins into the air and steps back, quickly pulling a flintlock pistol out from under his coat. With inhuman speed, he lets off a burst of rapid shots, each of the white-hot projectiles hitting its mark in the dead centre. The coins clatter to the deck, each one burnt and warped. He re-holsters his pistol and takes the helm once more. “'What about you, Riley'?” Katashi inquires. “'Oh, me? I'm a simple sailor. I can swing a sword and fire a bow as well as any man, but my place is on the sea',” he nods modestly, "That's not to say I haven't picked up a few things over the course of my life.” With a simple gesture, his form flickers and changes, becoming an exact replica of Katashi. “'No, no'.” Prince tuts, “'Too good looking'.” The flutter of wings and tapping of steel on steel interrupts the conversation as somebody lands on deck. A woman clad in scant white robes, her hair is cropped and wild, and her features are slightly masculine. She holds a bow in her hand, and her metal boots end in pointed dagger-like heels. Perhaps most notable of all, however, are the four black feathered wings on her back, folded behind her like some dark angel. “'Far be it from me to interrupt this... thrilling conversation, I'm sure'," she starts, her voice laden with sarcasm, "But I spy manticore to the starboard bow.” "Captain?" Riley says, "Perhaps a more practical demonstration is called for?" “'Aye',” Recard nods. “'A fine bit of spotting, Mayael. Riley, batten down and brace for combat. Relay the order.' ” “'Captain'.” Riley nods and begins to call out orders in the Black Tongue, running towards the lower deck. Mayael launches herself from the deck, flying up to the crow’s nest as Prince begins to cast a spell. “'Leave this to me',” Prince says as a gentle burst of air lifts him from the deck. “'Perhaps you will learn a thing or two'.” He flies up to the crow’s nest, keeping pace above the boat. “'Erinyes! How far'?” “'Three-hundred feet'!” Mayael calls down. “'Fifty to the turn, they’ll be on us in a count of thirty!'” Three shapes appear in the distance, horrid creatures with feline bodies, batlike wings and long muscular tail ending in wicked quills. They rapidly approach the ship with powerful wing beats, pulling alongside it. As they break pace, their tails lash out, sending a shower of foot-long quills at the members of the crew. ENCOUNTER